Frek and the Elixir (12 page)

“Follow me, Gibby,” said Frek. He screwed up his courage and walked over to the women.

“Hi,” he said. “Are you toonsmiths?”

“Are you and your friend looking for a modeling gig?” said one of them with a laugh. She was tall and willowy, with her hair in black curls. Her shirt was a live wall skin playing, just now, a loop of a smug Da Nha Duc, throwing back his shoulders and curving his beak in triumph. “Deanna always needs new trolls,” added the curly-haired woman. Frek suddenly remembered that he looked like a gump, like an unhealthy bum.

“Oh, don't be mean to him, Sooly,” said the other toonsmith, the one with the turkle. “He's just an ugly fan.” Her blond-dyed hair was cut into a spiral pattern circling her head up to a tiny topknot. She smiled kindly at Frek, her eyes warm in her smooth brown face. “Do you play a lot with the toons?”

“As much as I can,” said Frek. He gestured self-consciously at his face and his stub arm. “This isn't how I really look.” Gibby gave him a sharp poke.

“If that's a costume, someone's done a glatt job,” said the spiral-haired Deanna. She glanced down at her turkle and made a few quick lines with a little stylus. A tellingly accurate caricature of Frek and Gibby appeared in the iridescent skin of the turkle's leathery back. “Save,” said Deanna, and the image melted into the recesses of the turkle kritter's brain.

“Now leave us alone,” said Sooly, her Da Nha Duc's expression switching to a fuming scowl.

“Sorry,” added Deanna. “Sooly and I have some things we have to work out. It's hard to find time to talk when we're at the Toonsmithy.”

“That's okay,” said Frek humbly, and took a few steps back.

“Time for my moolk, Huckle,” said Gibby.

Beside the toonsmith women were a group of five Kritterworkers. Their overalls had stiff spots from the colorless ichor that fed the Kritterworks artigrows.

Just arriving were a trim lady exec and a lower-ranking junior exec. She wore a NuBioCom pin of rank upon her lapel. They seemed a bit out of place here. Perhaps they didn't want to be seen by their usual friends. They gave Frek and Gibby a wide berth.

Closer to the cowloon were elephruk-handlers, farmers, fishermen, turmite-cloth tailors, off-duty counselors, and young couples out partying. Gibby sprang up onto the curved wooden bar that circled the stalk of the cowloon. Frek leaned his single elbow on the bar and watched to see what would happen next.

The floating cowloon was a taut bag resembling the headless, legless body of a cow. Buoyant with methane, brindle orange on white, it floated three meters up in the air, attached to the ground by a thick stalk, all of it covered with hairy hide. The cowloon's great, hanging udder was in service, squirting moolk into the mugs the bartender held up to it.

“Back for another bout, eh Gibby?” chortled the bartender, a slender, weasel-faced man with a pencil-line mustache. He raised a half-pint pottery mug into the air.

“This time's gonna be different, Pede,” said Gibby, sounding a little defensive. “I'm only havin' just the one. Got some important business tomorrow. Me and my partner Huckle.”

“Good to meet you, Huckle,” said Pede, setting Gibby's moolk down next to him. “Should I give him a mug on your tab, Gibby?”

“No moolk for Huckle,” said Gibby sharply. “He's too young to be getting messed up.”

“Young?” said Pede, cocking his head and giving Frek a careful once-over. “If you say so.” He turned his attention to some other customers.

The moolk had a powerful effect on Gibby, who immediately began cursing and slurring his words. It was unpleasant to see, and the other moolk-drinkers weren't nice to be around either. A plate of free anymeat and grobread sandwiches sat upon the bar; Frek snagged two of them, wormed his way out through the crowd and headed across the pasture. Deanna the toonsmith was the only one to notice him leaving. She didn't exactly wave or smile, but she didn't frown either. Maybe he could get her to give him a tour of the Toonsmithy one of these days.

Down on the riverbank Frek sat a little upstream from the elephruks, eating his sandwiches and drinking from the clear River Jaya. It was getting dark. A crescent moon hung low over Stun City, exquisite against the skyline's fantastic shapes.

Idly Frek watched the images atop the Toonsmithy. Before long they cycled back to the Skull Farmers: Gypsy Joker, Strummer, and Soul Soldier. Seeing them set Frek to thinking about all the stuff that had happened to him.

The adventure had started last Saturday when he'd been gaming with the Skull Farmers at Stoo's. The counselors had come to ask about the Anvil and he hadn't told them it was under his bed. Then in the middle of the night, the Anvil had opened up, the alien cuttlefish had talked to him, and early Sunday morning the counselors had peeked him. After that he'd been fubbed in the fog till Thursday afternoon, when Ida and the Goob Dolls woke him up. Then right away Mom helped him run away and he'd ended up with the Grulloos. Jeroon had fixed his brain with stim cells, and today, Friday, he'd ridden to Stun City with Gibby, disguised as a gump. Tomorrow he was supposed to sneak a peek at the Anvil.

Gibby was up by the torch-lit cowloon drinking moolk; even from here Frek could hear him yelling and playing his fiddle. Frek's new pal. It was hard to believe he was friends with a Grulloo. Downstream the elephruks were making a peaceful, rumbling noise. And out across Stun City, dogs were barking, especially near the Kritterworks.

Frek rubbed the stump of his arm, feeling a slight tingle. Was it starting to grow back? Hopefully not before tomorrow afternoon; till then he'd need his disguise. He wondered if he had any chance of finding the Anvil within the fortresslike puffball. And, assuming he could get the Anvil open, what would he find inside it? It was a shame the counselors had killed the cuttlefish. For the first time since he'd gotten his memory back, Frek remembered that one funny-looking seed he'd planted. And the way it had immediately grown into something that burrowed off beneath the soil. Surely it had been from the alien. Mom had said the counselors burnt and poisoned the ground all around Giant's Marbles. But by the time they got there, the mysterious digging thing would have been long gone.

Frek looked out across Stun City. The sliver of moon was higher now, cupped upward like a bowl. And, hard as it was to believe, two of the buildings on the skyline had changed shape. One of them definitely had a new spire that hadn't been there before. Those aircoral polyps were fast.

There was so much he didn't know about Stun City. Frankly, it seemed hopeless to try to loot the Anvil with Gibby, especially after seeing the Grulloo hitting the moolk. Being like a chameleon for half an hour wouldn't make that big a difference. Would the NuBioCom guards just stand there and watch while a funny-looking patch of floor coaxed open the Anvil—or shoved it out a window to land on Gibby's elephruk? The idea was kac.

What to do? Fred couldn't go home yet or the counselors would get him. Go live with the Grulloos? Not an appetizing thought. Maybe he could get a job in Stun City, or if things were too hot for him here, go farther down the river to some other town. Grand-sounding words, but the thought of having to travel even farther from Mom, Ida, Geneva, and Wow made Frek feel sick and hollow. And how far would he have to go to escape Gov's influence anyway? Carb had gone all the way to the asteroids. Must Frek find a space bug and ship out, too?

School and the toons didn't teach all that much about the government. The basic setup was that the planet was divided into little regions, with each region run by its own Gov, all of them more or less the same. They had one top-level Gov called Prexy. They weren't told more than that; the main message was don't worry about it. Thinking of Gov set Frek to remembering the Raven toon pecking him. To get his mind off that, he lay down flat on his back and stared up at the stars.

Right before he fell asleep something funny happened. He'd turned his heavy new ring around so he could rub the little dent with his thumb. It was soothing to feel the nice curve. It was something he'd been doing off and on all day. But now it was as if he'd finally triggered something in the ring, for one of the stars high up in the sky suddenly seemed to get brighter. In his drowsy state, this didn't seem all that remarkable. The bright star flew down; it found its way to him and hovered over his ring. A spiky yellow halo surrounded the glowing ball. In the center Frek saw a girl with pigtails and a friendly, open face. “Come to me, Frek,” she said. “Come soon and help me.” She smiled, and the smile shone like the sun.

When Frek woke he was cold and damp. It was the middle of the night. Having a stub for a left arm surprised him at first, but then he remembered what was going on. By tomorrow afternoon he'd be back to normal. Briefly he recalled the image of the girl in the ball—but surely that had been a dream. He checked his ring; it wasn't doing anything.

Frek could hear a few drinkers still at the cowloon; their voices were fubbed and mean. But he didn't hear Gibby, which was good. He headed up through the pasture toward the inn. The six-legged elephruks were standing in the high grass now, sleeping with their heads and trunks hanging down.

Frek bent his path so as not to get too close to the guttering torches and noisy people by the cowloon. The toonsmiths Sooly and Deanna were long gone of course; they weren't the type to stand around getting messed up. At first Frek saw no sign of Gibby. He was hoping his friend had made it safely to bed. But then he noticed a small still form lying in the dirt by the inn's back door, with someone leaning over him. Phamelu was going through the unconscious Gibby's pockets.

“What are you doing?” asked Frek, walking up to her, his pulse beating fast.

“Oh, hi there, Huckle,” said Phamelu, flashing an easy smile and pushing back a hank of her thick blond hair. “I'm just loosening his jacket so he can breathe better. I would have liked to have carried him upstairs, but I think there's some kind of watch thingie in your room?” She gave Frek a concerned look and shook her head. “When I checked your room, I heard this fierce croaking sound and I figured, careful, Phamelu, don't go in there. Anyway, I think he's too heavy for me to carry. Good thing you're here.”

“Yep,” said Frek shortly. He wasn't sure if she'd been trying to rob Gibby or to help him. Maybe just help. Phamelu did seem so nice. “I can carry him,” he said, and hoisted Gibby onto his shoulders. Gibby's fiddle lay smashed on the ground where he'd collapsed. Poor little thing.

“You're strong,” said Phamelu. “Come back down when you've got him settled. I'll give you a snack.”

Frek didn't know what to answer, so he didn't say anything. Upstairs, the toad gave a warning croak when Frek pushed open the door. Frek held Gibby out in front of himself and pinched the Grulloo's tail until he made a noise. This seemed to mollify the toad. To seal the deal, Frek found Gibby's pod of grub worms and fed some more of them to the toad. The warty little creature gazed up at him with a kindly look in the pupil-slits of his yellow eyes.

“If I go downstairs for another minute, will you let me back in?” Frek asked the toad as he tucked Gibby into his bed. The toad didn't say anything one way or the other. Frek fed it another grub and took the pod with him when he went downstairs.

Phamelu was perched on a stool behind her inn counter. “I don't know if you ever got any supper,” she said. An anyfruit apple sat on the counter between two mugs of moolk. “Pede said you'd wandered off, and then nobody could find you when Gibby got sick.”

“Sick?” said Frek. “He drank too much.”

“He always does,” said Phamelu, smiling and shrugging her shoulder. “You'd think he'd learn. Not that there's anything wrong with moolk, if you know how to handle it. Here's a nice apple with some moolk for you. On the house.”

“Well—” said Frek. “I'll be glad to eat the apple, but I think maybe—”

“Pede heard Gibby say you're too young for moolk,” said Phamelu, nudging one of the mugs forward and giving Frek an encouraging smile. “Funny you don't look young.”

“Uh-huh,” said Frek, once again at a loss for words. He took a bite of the apple and then, just to show Phamelu he wasn't scared, he took a tiny sip of the moolk. It tickled the back of his throat.

“If you're interested, I might be able to offer you a job,” said Phamelu, taking a sip from her own mug. “I need an extra hand around the inn. Just to help the suckapillar clean out the rooms, you know. And tend to the elephruks. I don't have any extra money these days, but I could give you a place to sleep and plenty of food.”

This sounded very glatt. It was right along the lines of what Frek had been thinking of doing, in fact. Lie low in Stun City. Phamelu smiled at him and he took another sip of moolk. It tingled all the way down to his stomach. He quickly took a big bite of apple. The apple was delicious. Frek felt wonderful. He smiled happily at Phamelu.

“You're not really old, are you, Huckle?” said Phamelu, looking deep into his eyes. “Tell me. Once I know the truth, you can have the job. Tell me. We can work things out.”

She was certainly insistent. “Well—I might look younger tomorrow afternoon,” allowed Frek. “But you say I can still have the job even if I'm young?”

“Of course,” said Phamelu in a caressing tone. “You can keep the room you have right now. It's just a Grulloo room. I'll let you have it for free and you can work here as long as you like.”

“That's really nice of you, Phamelu,” said Frek. Things were happening faster than he could think them through.

“A toast,” said Phamelu, raising her mug.

They clinked mugs, and Frek took a much bigger swallow of moolk than before. When he set the mug down it made a loud sound on the counter. His ears were ringing.